


Rebound

by DhampirsDrinkEspresso



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben and Rey Don't Cheat, But They've Been Drinking, Cheating, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Hook-Up, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Misdirection, Misunderstanding, POV Alternating, Past Relationship(s), Past Rey/Poe, Post-Break Up, Rebound Relationship, Rey and Hux are NOT Together, Rumors, Sexual Content, Tabloid Rumors, Weddings, bad break ups, past Ben/bazine, there's consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DhampirsDrinkEspresso/pseuds/DhampirsDrinkEspresso
Summary: Rey tends to do things like text or call her ex when she's been drinking.
Relationships: Kaydel Ko Connix/Bazine Netal, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 7
Kudos: 75





	1. Call Him Your Rebound

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to way too much sad, angst-filled country music lately. This is apparently what happens...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year since they ended things, and now Rey's ex is engaged to her best friend. 
> 
> _More months pass and it’s been a year. A whole year since they broke up.  
>  She finds out by accident, overhears a conversation.  
> Engaged.  
> “Rey, come back!” She should have known he would come after her. She spins on him before he can grab her arm and for a moment they just stare at one another, breathing heavily.  
> “I’m sorry,” he says. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out. We wanted to tell you together.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story and chapter titles from Cole Swindell's "Stay Downtown"
> 
> Playlist link in story end notes.

She only does it when she’s been drinking. She lets down her guard and gives in to the temptation. Usually it’s a text, but sometimes she’s too drunk, too uncoordinated and she calls him instead. He always answers.

Eventually.

“Rey, you have to stop this.”

That’s it, no preamble, no greeting, just a sleepy rumble.

She can’t even say anything at first. Just hiccups and stumbles and laughs as she manages not to fall.

He sighs.

“Where are you?”

“Where do you think?”

He sends a ride share for her, says he knows better by now than to pick her up himself or they won’t make it out of the parking lot and he tells her he just _can’t_ anymore. It’s too much, and he’s moved on. Now it’s her turn to do the same.

Rey goes home and pretends the next day that it never happened, ’accidentally’ deletes her call history, and sends him the money for the ride. He doesn’t mention it, but he’s learned not to refuse it. They agree it’s for the best, really, as good as it can get anyway, if they both just pretend not to remember when one of them gives in to a moment of weakness.

He’s tired of it. They’ve been broken up for months, _her_ decision he reminded her the first few times. Actions have consequences and when the woman he at least _thought_ he loved chose to sleep with someone else, she should have expected he wouldn’t be sticking around.

Especially considering he caught them together in _his_ bed when he came home earlier than expected from a business trip.

To surprise her.

Although he supposes he was successful on that front.

But when she goes out, when she drinks, he can almost pretend she’s still the girl he planned to spend the rest of his life with.

She texts him, begs to come over because she knows he won’t come out. It was one of the things that should have tipped him off that they weren’t a good match from the start.

His phone screen lights up again. He should have blocked her number by now, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Besides, he’s her emergency contact. She doesn’t have anyone else. Or didn’t anyway, and no matter how badly she hurt him, he couldn’t live with himself if something happened to her because he blocked her number.

He sighs and sits up against the headboard, running a hand through his hair as he hits the option to accept the call. He doesn’t even get to speak before she’s babbling in his ear, slurring her words and laughing.

“Ben! Bennnnnnnnnn! Hey, it’s Ben! Lisssssennnn, lisssn Bennn, I miss you.”

Ben leans his head back and stares at the ceiling through his hair. He hasn’t cut it since she moved out. She always hated it long. “Send me your address. You need to drink some water and go home.”

She tries to argue, pouts and complains, but he gets the pin and sends a car for her. Once she’s home safe he gets an alert and finally, _finally_ , he can sleep.

More months pass and it’s been a year. A whole year since they broke up.

She finds out by accident, overhears a conversation.

_Engaged._

“Rey, come back!” She should have known he would come after her. She spins on him before he can grab her arm and for a moment they just stare at one another, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out. We wanted to tell you together.”

She laughs, or it might be a sob, even she isn’t sure. “Yes, because that would be better.” She takes a step back, arms wrapped protectively around herself. “My ex and my best friend—my _two best friends!_ Or so I thought. That was the worst part, you know, of us splitting up. I didn’t just lose the man I loved, I lost one of the people I was closest to in the world, one of the very few I have ever even trusted. But clearly neither of you trust me, since I didn’t even know you were _together._ ”

He shrugs, hands spread. “I…we weren’t sure how to tell you. We wanted to wait for the right moment, but it just never came around.”

She can’t even answer, just stares at him, incredulous and hurt. She wants to be angry, she _tries_ , but she just can’t recapture the rage. “Congratulations,” she tosses out weakly, then turns and walks away.

“Rey! Rey, wait, please! At least let me make sure you get home safe.”

She flinches at the pleading in his tone. He may not _Love_ her anymore but he still cares. He’s too good a person not to.

She ignores him, though, and keeps walking.

He doesn’t follow.

It’s a fairly short engagement, the wedding festivities coming up in only six months. They haven’t spoken for a while and Ben is _shocked_ to see her there at the dinner. It’s not the rehearsal, that’s tomorrow, but everyone who has already arrived has gathered for a casual dinner and maybe some drinks. He doesn’t really drink all that much, because he tends to brood anyway and he is _not_ a happy drunk, but seeing her there, smiling and laughing, he suddenly needs an excuse to leave the table.

The bar is nearly deserted, only one other person there besides the bartender. His glass is filled quickly, and he thanks the bartender when he pays, and makes sure to add a decent tip. Based on the already raucous laughter from the table he just left, Ben is pretty sure the staff are going to more than earn their money tonight, even if it is slow.

He downs the first drink quickly, accepting the second with another absent thanks, and stares into the glass.

Movement catches his eye, and he looks up in time to see the other bar patron—a woman in a soft yellow dress—gesture for a refill of her own.

He knows she has to be with the wedding group, they’re the only people at the resort right now. She seems familiar but he can’t quite place her. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until she looks up and makes a face at him. He turns away, downs the rest of his second drink.

She’s pretty.

Beautiful, really.

He hears the laughter again, from the large table in the back of the restaurant, and flinches, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He should leave. He feels something cool press against his hand and opens his eyes, turning to find the woman has moved to the bar stool next to him.

“Here, looks like you could use this,” she says with a strained smile, and he looks down to find she’s pressing a chilled water bottle against his hand. It has a customized label, with the names of the happy couple on the label. “I’m Rey.”

Ah.

That’s why she seemed so familiar.

“Nice to meet you, I’m—”

“Ben. I know. We’ve never actually met but I’ve seen you a few times, when I was…with Poe.” It’s her turn to flinch when the laughter rings out again, Poe’s echoing the loudest. “I think we’re having an equally shite time.” Her smile isn’t so tight this time, and he feels his lips twitch in an attempt at a smile of his own.

He makes a face when he hears Bazine laugh again. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize Baz and Kaydel would be here.” He downs half the water bottle.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t especially want to stay and watch their drunken antics,” she says, signaling to the bartender and telling the woman she’d like to close out her tab. Ben tries to pay it for her and she just…silently glares at him until he puts his wallet away. It’s kind of adorable and he’s starting to think he’d follow this woman anywhere for the chance to know her better, to maybe get a real smile from her.

Wait, since when does he think _anything_ is adorable? That’s not a word that even exists in his vocabulary most days. Maybe those drinks were stronger than he thought.

They end up walking along the beach. Ben stays close enough they can talk without yelling if they wish, but he doesn’t crowd her. It’s… _nice_. He doesn’t say anything, apparently content to just wander aimlessly. When she shivers, he offers to give her his jacket but she says no. It’s cool but not truly cold, not yet, and she doesn’t know how to handle people doing things for her.

He’s surprisingly calm and laidback, and Rey is confused for a moment. Poe had always talked about him like he was a constantly angry beast of a man. Of course, Poe always exaggerated so…

Anyway, Ben wasn’t unpleasant company for a sunset walk on the beach when they were both trying to avoid seeing their exes be disgustingly happy with their respective replacements.

She’s had a little more to drink than Ben, not enough to be drunk but enough that she’s not so careful about what she does and says, and she decides that’s why she ends up telling him all of it, how she and Poe had been growing apart, the break up and subsequent hook-ups, the betrayal of finding out he had moved on with Finn, her best friend—the man she loved like a brother—and how it had felt like losing both her best friends.

Ben tells her about coming home early to surprise Bazine, how he’d been planning to propose (and how he hasn’t ever told _anyone_ about that), and instead he’d caught her in bed with Kaydel—his mother’s assistant.

There’s a feeling of relief at _finally_ getting it all out, and they drop down to sit in the sand and watch the sun sink into the water. This time she accepts when he offers his jacket and she cuddles into the warmth of his residual body heat, pulling it around herself and tucking her chin as she huddles in the mass of fabric so that she’s covered from the nose down.

That might have been a mistake, though, because it smells like him, like good cologne and some bottom note that is just him, just Ben, and she feels another little shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. She hears him laugh and glances up to find him looking at her with a smile, a real smile, and she suddenly realizes she doesn’t want to pretend anymore, doesn’t want to deny what she really wants.

What she has wanted for…well, at least three years, really, since the first time she went with Poe to a work party and saw him there across the room with Bazine on his arm, both of them laughing at something the person in front of them had said.

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

“We should have sex.”

Whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that, and he makes a choking sound. The look on his face sends her into peals of laughter and she apologizes but she doesn’t give up so easily.

Her reasoning is strong, logical, like a list of bullet points within a presentation titled “Reasons Ben and Rey Should Have Sex.” He can’t even argue against any of the very valid reasons she offers (ranging from ‘it’s been a very long time for Rey so Ben would be doing a service to the world’ to ‘we both want to’ and ending with ‘and Poe will absolutely hate it when he inevitably finds out’).

He knows Bazine will too. She was always oddly jealous of Rey, especially considering neither of them had actually known her. He and Poe weren’t even in the same department and they hadn’t been friends since their mothers forced them together when they were kids. Still, Baz was always bringing up ‘Dameron’s girl’ and watching Ben for some kind of reaction and she had always seemed both disappointed and relieved when all she got back was confusion.

He realizes he’s been quiet too long, too lost in his own thoughts, when Rey looks down and shifts away, mumbles what he thinks might be an apology, before letting his jacket fall to the cool sand as she rises to her feet. He doesn’t think she realizes just how high her dress rides up as she’s bending back down to grab the strappy shoes she’d taken off as soon as they reached the beach, and he finds himself fascinated by the glimpse of firm thighs and the slightest hint of the curve of her ass before she straightens and the skirt falls back to its proper place.

He takes the time to grab his jacket as she walks away, but only because he _knows_ that she’s cold. “Rey! Wait! Please!”

She actually does and it surprises him because what he does know about Rey (not enough, not nearly enough, he suddenly wants to know everything) suggests she won’t. He’s mildly horrified when he realizes she’s crying and he drapes the jacket back around her then pauses, hands at her waist. “Rey, I…”

He suddenly can’t think of a thing to say. Words are just gone, so he does the thing he’s been thinking about for a while now and leans down to kiss her. There’s a moment, a split-second, really, where he thinks she’s going to push him away and maybe punch him in the face and then there’s a little huff of breath, what he thinks might be a gasp, and then she responds, leaning into him and tangling her fingers in his hair almost immediately. She stretches up on her toes and he tightens his hold on her, tempted to pick her up but some tiny, sane, _logical_ part of him is screaming that would be a very bad idea.

He’s not sure where he gets the strength to break the kiss, to pull away and straighten back up, but he does, and he can’t help but stare at her for a moment. Her eyes have an almost glazed look and her lips are red and the slightest bit swollen. The breeze toys with a few wisps of hair that have come loose around her face and somewhere in the back of his mind he is comparing her freckles to the stars and deciding her freckles are more beautiful, not that he will ever admit such thoughts out loud.

Except she’s blushing and looking away and he thinks maybe he just did after all.

“Come back to mine?” she asks, and she’s not begging (she _wouldn’t_ ) but there may be a small part of her that considers it as long as he agrees to spend the night with her doing all the things she’s only now allowing herself to really imagine.

“Rey, you’ve been drinking, I don’t think—”

She cuts him off, presses her fingers to his lips. “Don’t, Ben. Don’t think. I’m fine, I swear. I’ve had water and food and I didn’t even finish my third drink and it’s been…” she pauses. How long has it been? She fumbles at the neckline of her dress and digs out her mobile to check the time. “Over two hours.”

He’s looking at her oddly, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, and she realizes he was watching her dig around the bodice of her dress until she reached the device tucked under the fabric covering her left breast. Her ID, bank card, and room key are still tucked in on the other side.

She feels her face heat a little and she hopes he can’t see her blushing in the low light. She glances down and then he’s on her again, and this time he does the thing she thought he was going to do last time and picks her up. She almost doesn’t realize they’re moving until she feels the boardwalk railing against her back. He’s moved them beside the stairs up to the walkway over the dunes, mostly hidden in the shadows. It’s not the most comfortable thing to be pressed against, but his jacket is thick enough that it’s not terrible, not scratching her or anything.

Kissing Ben isn’t like kissing anyone else. Maybe it’s just because it’s been so long since she’s been with _anyone_ but she thinks it’s more. That will probably scare her later. Right now, she just wants him to keep kissing her—anywhere he wants.

As if he’s reading her mind his mouth leaves hers, leaving a trail of kisses under her jaw, down her neck, pausing to trace her collarbones with his tongue and then he’s tugging gently at the top of her dress, hands moving unerringly to the zipper at her back to pull it down and then sliding the straps off her shoulders as his mouth chases after the edge of the fabric when he returns his attention to tugging it down.

The bra is strapless—and extremely uncomfortable—but the butter yellow fabric of the dress was thin enough that certain lighting had made it translucent at best. She hadn’t left herself time to find an alternate, and she couldn’t return it because it had been a final clearance markdown (also the reason it was too lightweight to be seasonally appropriate) and she refused to waste the money. Truthfully, the fact that she paid for the dress in an ‘up’ moment is really the only reason she came to the wedding at all. She had fully intended to back out and cancel at the last moment, but the yellow dress made her feel…hopeful.

As Ben’s mouth traces over the edge of the bra cups, she is very, _very_ glad she didn’t cancel. He pauses and makes a noise she thinks is a snort of laughter and her eyes flutter open. He’s staring at her right breast—well, at the plastic cards sticking out of the bra cup—and she can’t help a laugh herself. “It doesn’t have pockets,” she says with a shrug and he laughs again and sets her gently on her feet, pulling her dress back up after.

“We should probably take this somewhere more comfortable,” he says, and they both jump at the sound of voices coming from farther down the beach. “And private,” he adds, grabbing her hand and tugging her back around to the front of the staircase. “Definitely more private.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry? Chapter 2 will pick right back up where we left off.
> 
> Chapter count of 3 is tentative. It ran longer than expected (I can't believe I went over 1000 words before they actually met), and I am not sure if this will be 2 or 3 parts but based on what I already have probably three.


	2. Exactly What I Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben spend a night together, and a weekend, and maybe they want more...
> 
> _He’s not expecting it when she twists her body, forcing him onto his back and straddling him before she leans down and bites his neck, just shy of hard enough to break the skin. “We’re doing this,” she hisses. “I still want this, want you, and you aren’t going to get to play the martyr and take that from me. Now, do you still want this?”_   
>  _It’s like she’s flipped a switch. His eyes go dark and it’s like his entire body stands at attention, the calm before the storm. Then he explodes into motion and she’s on her back again, and his tongue is in her mouth while his hands attempt to touch all of her at once._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the tags. It's gonna hurt. I feel like there are a few more tags I should add but I am drawing a blank so if I really have missed something major PLEASE let me know.
> 
> Playlist link in story end notes. Story title from Cole Swindell's "Stay Downtown;" chapter title from "You Feel Good" by Tracy Byrd.

They run halfway down the wooden boardwalk constructed to protect the dunes, pausing twice for more kissing.

“Which room is yours?” he mutters against her lips as they pause again where the wooden walkway meets the sparse grass of the main resort grounds.

“Seven,” she says, kissing him again. “I’m in bungalow seven.”

He straightens and seems to think a moment. “I’m in four,” he says, pointing at the small, one room structure nearest them. “It’s closer.”

“Closer is good,” she says, breathing hard. If he asks, she’ll claim it’s from the running, that she hasn’t been keeping up with her usual exercise regimen. But then Ben’s breathing is pretty heavy too, and he doesn’t mention it or even seem to notice.

He pins her to the wall beside the door, kissing her again—or maybe he’s trying to devour her from the inside. Whatever, it works for her…

His right hand is braced against the white siding just above her head and his left fumbles at the door, trying to get the electronic lock opened while still kissing her. She’d offer to help or at least point out that it would be easier if he stopped kissing her, but she doesn’t _want_ him to stop. Eventually he is successful in his endeavor and the handle gives way with a low beep and then he does stop kissing her but only for a second as he tugs her away from the wall and his mouth is already claiming hers again when she realizes that they’re moving, that she’s walking backwards at his urging, stumbling a bit but trusting he won’t let her fall.

Her shoes land with a thump as soon as the door closes, and his sand-covered jacket is next. He toes off his own shoes while tugging his tie loose and Rey fights the absurd urge to tell him not to scuff them before distracting herself with the buttons that seem likely to lose their valiant fight to hold his shirt closed over his chest at any moment.

His hands are moving again and there is a sound she dimly realizes is the leather of his belt whipping through the belt loops of his pants and then it lands with a metallic thud as the buckle hits the floor between the sofa and the low glass coffee table. He gets her dress unzipped by the time she has half the buttons of his shirt open.

They’re halfway across the room now, and apparently he doesn’t have any remaining patience for buttons because he takes a step back and jerks the white fabric, untucking it and pulling it over his head almost in a single motion, before letting it carelessly drop. She’s pretty sure she hears at least two buttons hit the floor and bounce.

He picks her up again, hands on the backs of her thighs, and she yelps and grabs onto his shoulders for balance when her head is suddenly higher than his. He laughs, and then she yelps again when he, well, _tosses_ her to the center of the bed. He laughs harder at the look on her face as she bounces once, though thankfully not as far as his buttons did. She tries to sit up, but the skirt of her dress is tangled around her hips and thighs and the loosened bodice has her arms all tangled.

“Oh, that’s an idea,” he says, watching her struggle with the fabric holding her prisoner and her breath catches.

She shivers and swallows hard. “Tie me up next time, if you want. Right now, I want to be able to touch you.”

There’s a moment where she isn’t sure, where he gazes back across the room, and she thinks he’s looking for where he dropped his belt and tie, but then he looks back at her and grins, leaning over her for a quick kiss that barely even qualifies in comparison to what they’ve already shared, and yet it makes her tingle from head to toe. “Don’t move,” he orders as he moves away, standing smoothly. “Gonna lock the door, pretty sure Dameron has a key to everyone’s room.”

She does her best, but she can’t help squirming a little in anticipation as he flips the deadbolt, takes the time to check the blinds and curtains to ensure no gaps. “I don’t like to share,” he says casually, stalking back across the room like some big jungle cat. He sits on the edge of the mattress and flips on the small bedside lamp, fiddling with the shade until he apparently finds the angle he wants. “It’s not in your eyes, is it?”

She shakes her head, unable to speak for the moment.

“Good,” he says, hovering over her again, “Wanna be able to see you,” he leans down, dragging his lips over her skin, more just grazing her lips and chin and neck with his mouth than actually kissing her. His facial hair tickles but it’s _good_ somehow, even though until this very moment she would have sworn she didn’t like being tickled. She can feel his breath and shivers when he speaks again, lips brushing lightly against her throat. “Not make you go blind…well, not permanently, anyway.”

That’s…well, that’s something but she can’t make her brain form any thought beyond _yes, please._

His hands are moving, smoothing over the dress and she realizes he is following the folds in the fabric, gently and slowly untangling her at last. When she can move, she sits up, letting the bodice pool in her lap, chin tilted up for a real kiss again, deep and wet and probably far messier than either of them wants to admit, but she likes it and Ben seems to as well.

He keeps waiting for her to change her mind, protest something he’s doing or criticize the way he touches her. She doesn’t, just gasps and squirms and runs her hands over him, touching every bit of him within reach. Her fingers tangle in his hair, nails trailing over his scalp and every tug at his locks when he does something that she especially likes sending pinpricks of pleasure through him.

She whispers that she likes his hair, wishes it was longer, and he thinks she’s going to say something else but he trails his hands down over her hips and thighs, then back up, and when his fingers settle between her legs they both forget words.

Despite the frantic desperation on the beach, he’d decided somewhere between tossing her onto his bed and untangling her from her dress that he wants to take his time with her.

After all, he’s not stupid. This may be the only chance he gets. They’re practically strangers hooking up at her ex’s wedding to her best (former best, maybe?) friend. His ex is here too.

Ben keeps trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that insists this is something big, that there’s some kind of connection between them that could flare up and swallow the sun if they let it.

Logically, he knows that the best he can hope for with Rey is this weekend, and if he’s very lucky maybe a little longer until she moves on. If it’s all he can have, he’ll be her rebound, her occasional hook up, or just her one-night stand.

But at least this one thing will be on his terms.

Her dress is somewhere on the floor, as is his shirt, but they still both have too many clothes on and not enough skin touching. He strokes her once more over the lace-trimmed white fabric of her panties and sits back up, pulling away as she whines and her hands reach out to pull him back to her. He allows it—to a point—leaning in and kissing her but then backing away to stand beside the bed. She freezes when his hands move to his waistband, making quick work of the buttons and zipper, and she licks her lips as she stares at him. Something that might be fear flits quickly over her face when her eyes focus where he’s straining against his last bit of clothing. It’s replaced quickly, though, by a hunger he knows his own eyes echo when he looks at her.

Holding his gaze, she sits up, reaching behind her to unhook the bra, and she jumps when her ID and room key fall to her lap. Her debit card is stuck to her, clinging desperately to her right breast, and Ben can’t hold back his laughter.

She doesn’t either, though, so it’s okay.

He places the items safely on the nightstand, and she looks around the room in confusion for a moment. “Did I drop my mobile in the sand? I know I was holding it at one point but I can’t remember…” She trails off and blushes and Ben can’t help feeling a little rush of pride at the knowledge that _he_ made her forget.

“Pretty sure it’s in my jacket pocket,” he says, gesturing in the general direction of the door. She relaxes and smiles at him.

“That’s all right, then,” she says, rolling and then pushing up onto her knees, kneeling on the bed in front of him. Her hands trace over his skin, stroking the skin over his abs, his chest, up to his chest. Kneeling on the bed she is shorter than she would be standing, so he has to lean over a little farther than he would like for her to slip her arms around his neck. It’s worth it, though, when his lips find hers, her tongue darting out playfully to lick his bottom lip before it’s gone again. He lets out a huff of frustration and then her teeth press gently into his bottom lip and he will _never_ admit it to anyone, not even to Rey, but he _whines_ at the sensation. Fortunately, she doesn’t comment, just keeps kissing him and trying to tug him forward, back onto the bed with her. Apparently, Rey is not so interested in doing this slowly.

Between leverage and the sheer difference in their sizes, he manages to resist without much physical effort, although his will is certainly wavering. “There’s no need to rush,” he says, reaching out to cup her face with one hand, thumb brushing over her mouth. Her lips part and he feels the press of teeth, the quick brush and retreat of her tongue, there and gone before he even fully registers the sensation. “Do you trust me?”

She nods, swallows, slowly blinks, and licks her lips, all before manages to form an answer. “Yes, I do. I can’t explain it, but I do.”

He nods. He’ll take that, but he won’t think too much about it, not right now, in case it fosters false hope that this is something more than just the weekend, more than two lonely people who really need to release some tension.

“Lie down, Rey,” he says, voice soft and even and she pouts up at him, but she does it. He can’t help a small smile at the lack of hesitation.

She really does trust him, at least for now, at least with this.

Rey is confused and trying extremely hard not to think too much about it. She may be in over her head with him.

Rey doesn’t trust people. She learned early in life that they always let her down, always leave without ever looking back. It took Poe months to get her to agree to even have a drink with him, and they were already kind of friends before that. She was acquaintances with Finn for years before she even agreed to join his study group at university.

And yet, here she is, nearly naked in Ben Solo’s hotel room, and she is absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred and ten percent honest when she tells him she trusts him.

She shouldn’t, she knows it logically, but something deep inside of her seems to recognize him.

Which is ridiculous.

They barely know each other.

All they really have in common is the fact that they both know Poe well enough to be at his wedding and they both went through bad break ups around the same time.

When she suggested they have sex it was mainly because it would be an excellent way to relieve some tension with the added bonus of maybe thumbing their noses at Poe and Bazine by leaving dinner to hook up. He’d seemed on board, and they had barely been able to keep their hands off one another since.

And yet suddenly Ben wants to take things slow, and the way he keeps touching her, it’s like it _means_ something and it’s terrifying.

“Earth to Rey.” Ben taps her on the forehead and then the nose with one fingertip. “Rey, if you changed your mind and don’t want to do this, we won’t.”

She blinks rapidly, a little confused. He’s stretched alongside her on the bed again and he seems worried. Her eyes sting and it’s ridiculous but she blinks again, fighting to keep any tears from falling. “NO!” she practically shouts, and he jerks away “No, not…I’m sorry, it’s not that. I just got all tangled in my thoughts for a moment.” She reaches for him and rolls to her side, closing the small gap he left between them. She drapes her left leg over his hip, using that and her hand on his shoulder to try and pull him even closer. He sighs and wraps his arm around her, holding her against his chest, but the way he’s touching her has changed. He shifts and she thinks maybe he kissed the top of her head, but that’s silly. Why would he do that?

“Maybe…” he trails off and groans before trying again. “This may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever said but maybe we should just get some sleep. It’s late and it wasn’t exactly an easy day for either of us.”

The sting of rejection is like a physical blow and she hisses before she can catch herself.

Some part of her revels in the pain, grabs it and holds it close before wrapping it in anger.

He’s not expecting it when she twists her body, forcing him onto his back and straddling him before she leans down and bites his neck, just shy of hard enough to break the skin. “We’re doing this,” she hisses. “I still want this, want _you_ , and you aren’t going to get to play the martyr and take that from me. Now, do _you_ still want this?”

It’s like she’s flipped a switch. His eyes go dark and it’s like his entire body stands at attention, the calm before the storm. Then he explodes into motion and she’s on her back again, and his tongue is in her mouth while his hands attempt to touch all of her at once.

He blazes a path down her body, and she’s going to have a line of bruises and love bites from neck to navel come morning. His lips and teeth and tongue are worrying at the skin beside her belly button when his hands hook into her simple white panties and slide them quickly down her legs and away, far away, across the room, or maybe into the next galaxy. That’s certainly where Rey thinks she’s headed the moment his mouth is on her core.

Despite the frenzy, there’s a finesse, an _artistry_ , to the way he uses his lips and tongue and her vision is fuzzy when she finally has to shove him away, too sensitized from…well, she isn’t sure how many orgasms, or maybe it was just one really long and powerful one. Either way, she can barely breathe, can’t see, and she couldn’t move even if she wanted to.

He just waits, fingertips tracing her arms and legs, and head pillowed on her thigh, until she recovers enough to offer a breathy “Wow,” and he laughs and sits up, reaching over to the nightstand for the condom she vaguely recalls him dropping there when he took his pants off. She doesn’t even know when he stripped off his own underwear, but he’s gloriously nude and she’s happy when her vision fully returns so she can truly appreciate the view of him slowly pushing his way inside her.

He tries to go slowly again, and she lets him have that—at first. She learned earlier that he likes the scratch of her short, blunt fingernails on his scalp and over his shoulders. She tries raking them over his chest as he hovers over her, only his lower body moving at the moment in a slow, glorious sort of rolling motion. He jerks against her, thrusting just a little harder, a bit faster, and she does it again, this time locking her ankles behind his back and jerking him down that way. He makes a primal sort of sound and he doesn’t even pretend to try for slow anymore.

It’s not long after that they’re both groaning and shuddering and panting for breath. He collapses on her and rolls to the side in almost exactly the same moment his weight goes from pleasant to suffocating as the endorphins start to fade. When Rey can move again, she attempts to roll away and he locks an arm around her waist, pinning her against him. “Don’t go,” he mutters, and she wants to believe that there’s a hint of pleading in his tone.

“Just need the loo,” she says, “I’ll be right back.” He loosens his hold and lets her go, leaning up on one elbow as if making sure she really is just going to use the facilities and not planning some daring, moonlit, nude escape.

She spends the night, doesn’t even consider leaving before sunrise, and it’s the most restful sleep she’s managed in longer than she can really remember.

She wakes to his lips on her neck and shoulder and his fingers rolling and pinching her nipples and she lets out a happy sigh, pressing her hips back against the hardness behind her. She lets him have his slow turn this time, and they barely even have to discuss skipping breakfast with the group. Technically Poe said that was optional anyway, and even though they both know he didn’t mean it they’re happy to take advantage of the fact that he said it.

They shower together and do eventually manage to get clean, and Rey is wearing Ben’s discarded shirt (there are just enough buttons left to keep it almost closed) under the fluffy hotel robe when their room service order is delivered.

Poe shows up just before lunch and thankfully they are both mostly dressed because they have forgotten to the lock the door this time. Poe just stares at them, mouth hanging open a moment before he shakes his head and walks back out, grumbling about owing Bazine, Kaydel, and Finn fifty bucks each.

Rey grins up and Ben and shrugs and it seems like they are going to ignore his little interruption when he yells from outside that they better both have their asses at lunch or he’s coming back with…something. He must be walking away as he yells because they can’t really understand him by the end.

Rey ends up stealing one of Ben’s t-shirts to wear back to her room, carrying her own clothes and shoes in a plastic laundry bag. Fortunately, his shirt is long enough to basically cover everything important as long as she’s careful how she walks, and he doesn’t protest after the glare she shoots him when he opens his mouth to try.

They get through lunch, an afternoon on the beach with the group, and the rehearsal dinner. This time they end up in Rey’s room and neither of them gets much sleep again.

Neither of them is in the wedding party, but the ceremony is small enough that they may as well be.

They ignore the place cards at the reception tables, sitting together. One person tries to protest, and a single look from Ben is all it takes to send him scurrying to the seat at the next table which had been assigned to Rey.

Rey and Ben eat and drink and dance and walk on the beach again before ending up back in her room, and this time they really do just sleep.

Ben wakes up first and just watches her in the soft glow of early morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. They forgot to close the black outs. She smiles up at him when she wakes, and he can’t stop the words from tumbling out of him. “I want to see you again. At home. More than once.”

He winces and closes his eyes, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, I’m not doing this well.”

She grasps his wrist gently, tugs his hand away before stroking her own fingers down the side of his face. “It’s okay. I think I understand what you’re saying, and I’d like to see you again too. Preferably often.” He kisses her palm and can’t believe his luck.

They’re on the same flight home, and he manages to get her seat upgraded to first class and assigned beside him. He tells her it was miles that were going to expire anyway and he’s sure she doesn’t believe him, but she lets it go and allows herself to just enjoy it.

They date—really date—for a few months and move in together when her lease is up. Their friends insist they’re moving too fast, but Ben can’t find it in him to care.

He loves her.

Really and truly, and based on how he feels now, he knows he hasn’t ever actually been in love before.

So of course it all falls apart.

She gets a letter first, and then someone comes to the house. He knows how much it means to her, that she has family out there, someone actually looking for her, and of course she’s going to go.

She won’t let him come with her, though, says she needs to do this on her own, find out who she is.

It doesn’t matter that he already knows who she is—who she really is—and it has nothing to do with a grandfather she’s never met. She’s Rey, the woman he loves, and if she wants a family name, he’ll gladly give her his.

But it’s definitely too soon for that, especially when he hasn’t even told her he loves her yet.

She’s crying when she leaves him, both of them being torn apart, and he can’t hold it back anymore. He tells her, practically screams it in her face, that he loves her, that he knows she feels it too even if she can’t admit it yet.

“I don’t know exactly what I feel,” she says, and then she’s gone, and he won’t ever forget those words.


	3. We've Got Unfinished Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She left him six months ago, hasn't contacted him for three.
> 
>  _She takes a shaky breath, and he hisses out one of his own._  
>  “Rey?”  
>  _She clears her throat, swallows twice, before offering a quiet, “Hi.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Title from Cole Swindell's "Stay Downtown." Chapter title from Gone West's "What Could Have Been."
> 
> Third time's the charm, I guess? I have scrapped and rewritten this multiple times because it kept getting darker and more complicated than I wanted (and yes, the cut plotline may become its own work in the future). 
> 
> Playlist link in STORY end notes.

She only does it when she’s been drinking. She lets down her guard and gives in to the temptation. In some ways a text would be easier, less terrifying, but he prefers actual calls and if she’s honest, Rey wants—needs—to hear his voice.

Even if it’s only his voicemail greeting.

He doesn’t answer.

He usually doesn’t. She knows it’s probably the time difference.

She doesn’t let herself think too much about the fact that he doesn’t call back or text her after seeing a missed call.

She lets her mobile drop and reaches for the bottle again. She doesn’t sleep at all anymore, not sober anyway.

She nearly drops her refilled glass when the screen lights up and she scrambles, half falling to the floor in her efforts to retrieve the device. She manages to answer just before it would have rolled to voicemail, and she’s already crying before he even speaks.

“You can’t keep doing this, Rey.”

She blinks, moves the phone away to check the screen and confirm that yes, it says the call is from Ben.

But it’s not Ben.

It’s Poe.

“Poe? What? Why do you have Ben’s phone?”

“Because he gave it to me.”

She blinks. “Oh.” She takes a shaky breath, sits in the floor and places her drink on the nearest table. “Why would he do that, Poe?”

“I made him.” She can hear him take a breath, knows him well enough to know she will NOT like whatever he is preparing to say next. “You have to leave him alone, Rey. It’s tearing him up. It’s been six months since you left.” Poe sounds angry. “You left him, Rey, you left _everyone_ , without any explanation and then you ignored us all for three months. This is a case of you making your own bed, Rey, and now you have to lie in it.”

The call ends.

She’s still in the floor when the sun comes up. No text or call goes through when she tries to apologize.

They’ve blocked her.

All of them, apparently.

Head pounding, eyes burning with a need to shed tears she’s too dehydrated for, she throws the device at the nearest wall. It shatters impressively, still in one piece for the most part but the screen is completely destroyed and the power button seems to be gone.

Oh well. Just another hit in the rain of blows she’s brought upon herself.

He recognizes the man first. Armitage Hux, rising star of First Order Holdings. In a different life where he’d made even worse decisions, Ben and Hux would have been rivals at best.

The photo is blurry, Hux and two other men escorting a woman in a black dress and dark sunglasses from a luxury sedan into the building housing First Order’s London Headquarters.

It’s like a physical blow when he realizes the woman is Rey.

Hux has a hand on her lower back, cold eyes trained on the poor soul who dared snap the photo.

Whoever it was must have been fast. First Order security is notorious for catching anyone—not just the paparazzi but regular people too—and forcing them to delete photos if not actually destroying their devices completely.

He grabs two copies of the gossip magazine and tosses them on top of the small basket of groceries already loaded onto the belt.

He doesn’t even look at the headline until he gets home.

“First Order Romance” is emblazoned across the cover in a horrid pink font.

It’s gossip, trash, almost never any truth in the stories they print.

Almost.

He tears off the headline, finds the article that claims “a source” has reported a whirlwind romance between Armitage Hux, director of European Operations and Logistics, and Rey Palpatine, the newly found heiress to one of the world’s largest global conglomerates.

He doesn’t want to believe it.

But there are other photos, company events mostly, all with Hux glued close to Rey’s side. The one that hurts though? The one that makes him think this is one of the few times the trash magazine is correct? It looks like a selfie, the two of them actually _smiling_ and practically cuddling on a low sofa. It’s supposedly from her recently deleted Instagram account.

He grabs a bottle of scotch in one hand, his phone in the other. Hopefully there’s someone in his contacts who still cares enough to stop him from doing something stupid like calling her or booking a flight to London.

It’s another two months before she tries again. She learned his number (well, numbers, home and work and mobile) that first week, after Poe and Finn’s wedding. She’s always had an easier time with numbers and hands on activities than words.

Her foster father spotted her mechanical acuity early on and used it to his own advantage, making her work for her food, claiming the government didn’t pay him enough and she needed to earn her keep.

She didn’t really mind so much. She taught herself how to rebuild an engine and run computer-based diagnostics on it. And it gave her something to do besides just wait for parents who never came back for her. She knows now it’s because they died not long after. Her grandfather has hinted they were trying to hide her from him for some selfish reason. The longer she knows him, the more convinced she is that it really may have been in her own best interest that they gave her up, although she still wishes they hadn’t.

She punches in the number, not forgetting the country code this time, and tries to push aside the unpleasant memories and thoughts that are a constant plague on her life.

He answers—he has to, it’s his work line, the direct one that only a few people have. It should be getting close to lunch time for him.

“Solo.”

That’s it, just his last name, no greeting, no follow up pleasantries.

God, she’s missed his voice.

She takes a shaky breath, and he hisses out one of his own.

“ _Rey?_ ”

She clears her throat, swallows twice, before offering a quiet, “Hi.”

He leaves early after growling an order at his assistant to have someone block the last number that called his private line.

He can’t do this.

_Can’t._

Every time she reaches out, he dies inside again.

He didn’t let her talk—couldn’t—finding the strength from somewhere to tell her not to call again and then hang up on her.

She doesn’t need to know he cried after, or that he’ll have the number unblocked tomorrow, just like he did when Poe blocked her from calling his home and cell lines.

And email.

Poe still goes through Ben’s physical mail, too, but she hasn’t tried to send anything that way.

The only reason she wasn’t blocked on any and all social media platforms is that Ben doesn’t use them.

He knows he needs to cut her out. But he can’t. What if something happens? Some emergency?

What if she somehow miraculously ended things with Hux and wanted to come home?

He’ll worry about her, _obsess_ over her well-being, probably forever.

But she doesn’t need to know.

She doesn’t try calling back. Clearly he’s moved on and has no interest in hearing from her. She tells herself it’s a good thing. She knows she hurt him—is probably _still_ hurting him, and that fact hurts her too. She lied when she told him she didn’t know exactly _what_ she felt. She loves him. Maybe even since that first night, when they fanned a spark into a flame, and even now her love for him is a blaze that could burn worlds. And she would, she thinks, for him.

She still has the tiny card from the first flowers Ben ever sent her—the first flowers _anyone_ has ever sent her—and she retrieves it now, holding it carefully and stroking a gentle thumb over the surface. They were a happy, bright mix of red rose buds, white and yellow daisies, and deep purple violets. She’d tried to press the flowers and cried when it didn’t work as well as she’d hoped, but she managed to save the card, and when he saw how upset it had made her Ben had sent more flowers, the arrangements increasing in size, every day for a week, until she’d laughed and ordered him to stop before she drowned in fallen petals.

She traces the slashes and curves of his handwriting, the card signed simply with a smiley face and his name. He’d actually gone to a florist to arrange it and personally sign the card. It was the kind of thing he did that surprised people who didn’t know him well.

She shakes her head and tucks the tiny rectangle of battered cardstock into a secure back pocket in her wallet. Her dresses still don’t have pockets, but she’s had designer clothes and accessories shoved at her almost from the moment she stepped off the plane upon her return to England. She’s a Palpatine (allegedly) and expected to look the part.

Hux is waiting downstairs with her security detail to take her to her grandfather for their weekly meeting. Hux is bearable. Rey doesn’t so much like her grandfather, and she gets the feeling it’s mutual. It makes her wonder why he ever bothered to look for her.

Rose is a recent addition to Ben’s small but growing circle of friends. She’s known Poe for years, and Finn for almost as long. She worked with Kaydel for a while, and it’s been Rose who was instrumental in Ben at least _trying_ to forgive Kaydel and Bazine and be on friendly terms, even if they won’t ever be friends again.

It’s strange, this having friends thing. Before Rey, he didn’t really have any. He’s had acquaintances, family, people he tolerated, and those he was somehow obligated to hate slightly less than the majority of the population. Just…not friends. Not the real kind, anyway, the ones who care because they care, and not for any ulterior motive.

They still annoy the hell out of him, but they also followed him into his own personal hell when Rey left, sat beside him in torment until he was ready, and finally dragged him out. Poe has been…very _Poe_ about it all.

So yes, Ben Solo has friends now. If the word itself wasn’t soiled for him he’d go so far as to call them his family.

Past Ben would have found it annoying that he worked with half of them, but current Ben, post-Rey Ben, is comforted by the fact.

It’s a shock when the proposal comes in, directly to him even though it’s more Poe’s department than Ben’s.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even think about it, just accepts and starts making the necessary travel arrangements himself while he waits for Rose to make it up to his office.

Hux is up to something, cagey and keeping secrets from her. She’s tried asking but he just waves her off, insistent he’s simply feeling poorly. She doesn’t believe him. He seems almost…excited? She’s not sure that’s the right word, not exactly, but he’s certainly pleased.

She stays silent the rest of the way to the First Order building, lets him escort her from the car to the bank of lifts, keeps her dark glasses on and her head down as they cross the lobby, the click clack of her heels on the marble flooring echoing through the disturbingly quiet space. People are working there, but they make no noise, no sound, and they do their best to remain practically invisible as they go about their duties.

The lift takes forever, even with no other stops, and Hux ushers her into a conference room, the larger of the two her grandfather uses for these weekly tete-a-tete’s in which he tries to convince her to see things his way and let him turn her into some kind of weird apprentice-puppet who can take over the business and run things his way while he (semi) retires and calls the shots from somewhere more temperate than the family estate in Exegol county.

If it’s the larger room, they’ll have an audience, more than just his cronies Snoke and Pryde. She pays no mind to the people at the far end of the room, crossing to her usual seat, two chairs down from Snoke, with Hux and an empty seat between them as a buffer.

There must be some sound from across the room, some movement that registers in her peripheral vision, something that catches her attention enough to make her turn and her knees buckle. Hux puts a hand out, presses against the small of her back, and it’s the only thing that keeps her from actually falling when she looks up.

And up.

“Ben?”

He’s crossed the room and is towering over them, slightly taller than even Hux, glowering. His jaw ticks and he crosses his arms but doesn’t say anything.

Most people would think him angry, and he is—she knows he is—but that’s not the main issue.

She knows Ben Solo, knows his tells.

Knows he’s protecting himself, holding himself back.

From her.

And, just maybe, from attacking Hux.

That, at least, tells her two things. One, Ben Solo still cares about her (whether he wants to or not), and two, he's heard the rumors that stupid tabloid started that she and Hux are an item.

He can’t do this. He thought he could but he _can’t._

No, that isn’t true.

He knew he couldn’t do this. It’s why he didn’t tell anyone other than Rose, why he made the arrangements himself rather than trusting his assistant with the information.

But the offer had come in, the proposal for a contract to upgrade systems security for First Order, and he’d jumped on the opportunity.

They were offering an obscene amount of money, and that in itself was suspicious, but Ben had to admit now that he’d been a little desperate.

When Hux opens the door for Rey and follows her into the room, she doesn’t glance around, never looks up, just hovers behind a chair near the head of the obscenely large conference table, keeping Hux and an empty seat between herself and the men at the head of the table.

Ben doesn’t blame her.

He also can’t stop himself from moving closer, the moth to her flame. His wings are already singed, why not let her burn them off completely.

He knows the moment it registers that he’s there, sees it in the way her entire body snaps to attention as she looks up at him.

Says his _name_.

She’s confused, certainly, and surprised, but there’s also an underlying mixture of _hope_ and it’s nearly crippling.

Because he can see it now, the strain of the past six months. She’s too pale, even her freckles are fading, and it’s not just the artfully applied make up. He’s fairly certain she’s lost weight, too, and she just looks _tired._

Possibly as tired as he feels.

Because he hasn’t slept well since she left him.

He should speak, offer a hand, _something_. He knows he should, but he just can’t. It’s like standing too close to the sun, and he’s awestruck by her mere presence.

A voice breaks through, then, and he can’t stop himself from glaring at Snoke, COO of First Order. “Oh, yes, you are _previously acquainted_ , how silly of an old man to have forgotten. Pryde, the Chairman of the Board, maintains a stony expression. Rey’s grandfather, CEO and President of the company, is entirely too pleased.

He’s up to something.

“Imagine, had you made the right choices, Solo, you could have had Hux’s place,” Snoke continues, as Hux pulls out Rey’s chair for her and then sits beside her.

The timing isn’t lost on any of them, and he see’s the displeasure twist its way through Rey’s expression.

Hux doesn’t give much away, but the tension in his body suggests he’s not entirely happy with the current situation, either.

Rey doesn’t bother to even half-listen to the blathering of the old men at the head of the table. It never changes, not really. They ramble on about their glory days, then try to turn the conversation to “recapturing the greatness of the First Order’s corporate empire” and inevitably try to bully her into agreeing to be a figurehead of sorts, a stalking horse for the three of them.

The phrasing and audience change, but the intent remains.

No, she’s still not interested. Her repeated refusals to “embrace her heritage” have resulted in her being a veritable prisoner for months, with Hux as her only ally (if that’s even an accurate description).

The only thing Rey manages to pay attention to is _him._ He’s not directly across from her, but close enough that she doesn’t even need to turn her head to see him across the vast expanse of mahogany between them.

He’s not paying attention either, not really.

Rose keeps having to poke him when someone addresses him directly.

Rey knows Rose well enough to recognize her, and they were friendly, but they hadn’t known one another well enough to become friends. It looks like Rose and Ben haven’t had that issue and it hurts, but it’s somehow a _good_ kind of pain, happiness tinged with regret in an ‘I’m glad he has friends but I should have been there,’ sort of feeling.

“I should have been there,” Rey says, interrupting whatever nonsense Snoke is spouting. She stands up, leans forward and rests her hands on the table, eyes locked on Ben. “I shouldn’t have left, ever. You were right. I know I can’t take it back, can’t ever fix it, and you may never know how much I regret that, Ben.” She pauses, looks at her grandfather. “You keep doing this, keep trying to convince me to be someone else, but you don’t even know me.” And then she turns and just…leaves the room.

She hears the murmur of voices, and then there’s laughter behind her, and someone calling out, the sound of pounding footsteps, but she doesn’t stop.

Instead she speeds up, feeling strangely light for the first time since…well, since the moment she got the letter from her grandfather’s solicitor.

She’s not a Palpatine. She _won’t_ be. It doesn’t matter what stupid lab tests say. She kicks off the stupid heels, leaving them in the middle of the hallway and dashes into the lift as the doors slide open with a hiss.

He misses her at the elevator, has to wait for the next one, and it’s like being trapped between worlds, an eternity in purgatory. Rose and Hux come up behind him, Rose gleeful while Hux mutters that he thought Pryde was going to shoot him.

Rey missed the fun.

She left the room and Ben calmly informed the individuals at the head of the table that he wouldn’t be accepting the contract after all, before pointing out that Rose had pinpointed multiple vulnerabilities in the systems and wouldn’t it be a shame if they didn’t get addressed before something unfortunate happened.

Ben had been on his way out of the room, calling after Rey, when Hux landed the final blow.

He’d sold his shares in First Order to Resistance Technologies, effectively making Ben Solo’s mother the majority shareholder. Add that to his uncle’s shares…well, things certainly weren’t going to be working out in favor of the current management.

The three of them pile into the elevator when it arrives, Rose still laughing about the look on Pryde’s face when security stopped him from attacking Hux as he realized they’d already been locked out of all the company’s systems. “They really should have been more careful about what they let me bring in.”

It feels like a long descent, but it can’t be more than a minute or two. Ben’s already moving before the doors even slide all the way open.

“Go get your woman, Solo,” Rose cheers.

He only catches her because she’s barefoot, and apparently stepped on something just outside the doors.

They talk. A lot. There’s so much pain and doubt and she can’t ever make up for it.

She wants to.

But she can’t.

They have to move forward, _onward_ , but the real decision is whether to do it together, and as complicated and painful as it all is, the choice they have to make is clear.

Inevitable.

Another six months pass before Rey runs into a familiar face on the street and he stares at her in shock.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “We wanted to tell you together. We didn’t intend for you to find out this way.”

She feels an arm slide around her waist, and she relaxes against the man beside her, twining their fingers together.

“Wha—I—huh?”

She can’t help laughing.

“WHEN?” he demands.

“Two weeks ago,” she replies, voice calm and steady. “Poe, do you need to sit down?” She leans against Ben and smiles, _really_ smiles, at Poe and Finn. It takes a moment for Poe to gather himself, for Finn to stop gaping. Poe pouts and Ben can’t quite meet his eyes.

“We really were going to tell you,” Ben mutters, “when we got back from our honeymoon.”

“Which, may I add, you are interrupting,” Rey adds.

“I can’t believe you eloped and didn’t even tell me,” Poe mutters. “Some friend you are,” he tosses at Ben, but he’s smiling, can’t stop his own laughter.

Ben pulls her closer and the four of them chat and make plans for lunch before her _husband_ practically drags her back across the street to their hotel. “See you tomorrow!” she calls with a wave, unable to stop a quick shriek when Ben has enough of waiting and pleasantries and tosses her over his shoulder, much to the amusement of the hotel staff and the few other guests in the lobby.

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebound Playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/306Q1yYDpruBOgKJq6i0ST?si=yiYhQie8TXyjN-JQ5-jPkw)


End file.
